


Castles in the Air

by janeaustenfangirl



Series: Castles in the Air AU [1]
Category: Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992), Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Crew of Light, F/F, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I got this idea from Tumblr, M/M, Multi, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some kissing, Sorry Not Sorry, Vampires, Van Helsing is a grandpa, im sorry bram stoker, lots of platonic hand holding, lucy/mina is more implied im sorry things got too long and i had to cut some stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:53:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janeaustenfangirl/pseuds/janeaustenfangirl
Summary: "Do you believe in destiny?" the Count whispered, almost as if he wanted to be sensual, but he sounded more like a lunatic. "That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on the face of this earth is the one who finds...true love?"Van Helsing looked at him, face unreadable, then said, stern and grand,"No."
Relationships: Abraham Van Helsing & John Seward, Arthur Holmwood/Lucy Westenra, Count Dracula/Abraham Van Helsing, Dracula/Mina Harker, Jonathan Harker/Mina Harker, Mina Harker & Lucy Westenra, Mina Harker/Lucy Westenra
Series: Castles in the Air AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910311
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. Intent Reasoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abraham Van Helsing travels to London to help his old friend and student, John Seward, with a patient.

At one point in time, the letter in his hand had been pristine, white and black. Now, it was crumpled, torn on one edge, and smudged from his sweat. He had overlooked it probably a dozen of times on the train ride from Amsterdam to Rotterdam. On the ferry from Rotterdam to Hull he looked it over at least two dozen times, and on the train ride from Hull to London he decided that he had gleaned everything he could from the page of writing, and decided to spend the hours catching up on what little sleep he could and trying not to be train-sick.

Now, he was sitting in the train station, the wooden bench hard and cold and worn. He had decided that there was no harm looking at it now that he was on solid ground, and he had needed to kill time somehow. He was waiting.

After glancing it over, barely skimming, he pulled out his pocket journal, and wrote:

_7 Sept. 1895_

_Patient Name: Lucy Westenra_

_Symptoms: Bloodlessness (not anemia? Check), lethargic sleep, nightmares, tiredness, loss of appetite_

_Notes: Have not yet examined patient. Do not wish to make assumption before examination._

He snapped the book closed, and unceremoniously shoved both it and the letter in his coat pocket. As he was doing so, he heard a familiar voice say, from just to his right:

“Professor?” He stood up, looked over, and a broad smile lit his face when he saw John Seward.

“Ah, Friend John!” he said excitedly, before taking Dr Seward’s hand in a hand shake.

“Professor Van Helsing. It’s wonderful to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“As do I, Friend John,” Van Helsing replied, as he clapped Seward on the back, jovially. He noticed with some distaste the dark circles under the other man’s eyes, the pale, waxy complexion.

He said nothing of it.

“I have a cab waiting outside to take us to my estate,” Seward said, glancing down, running a hand through his black hair.

“Excellent!”

~~~

The jostling of the cab did nothing to help the headache growing behind Van Helsing’s eyes. Even the soft early afternoon sun streaming in through the cab windows seemed too bright and harsh. He considered closing the curtains, but not seriously. He looked over at Seward, smiled weakly, and said:

“So, when do I get to meet our patient?”

“Whenever you like, I suppose. I thought you might need rest, first, though. Maybe a good meal.”

“Ah, quite right. Friend John, always thoughtful.” Seward smiled, and looked out the window. “Tell me more of Ms Westenra."

“Well,” he replied, “as of late, she has been experiencing the oddest symptoms -- blood loss, it would seem. She’s not anemic -- I checked for that. I’m assuming you’d like to run your own tests, though?”

Van Helsing nodded.

“And,” Seward continued, “she’s been having distressing dreams. She won’t tell me of what, though, and I don’t want to press it too seriously. I's hate to disturb her anymore, you see.”

“Good,” Van Helsing said, and for a moment they were silent. “Any else I should know?”

“Oh. Well. She’s engaged to Arthur Holmwood,” Seward said, something odd and barely readable flashing across his eyes.

_‘Ah. That explains it,’_ Van Helsing thought. He said nothing, though; just looked at Seward expectantly.

“She’s a very dear girl,” Seward said, dropping his eyes down to his hands. Van Helsing didn’t press the matter.

“I’ll look her over first thing tomorrow morning,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“Sure.”

~~~

By the time the two men arrived, an afternoon meal had already been set out. It smelled delicious -- or, Van Helsing thought it would have, had he been in the mood to eat. The thought of food made his stomach churn. He sat, though, not wishing to be rude. Seward sat across the table from him, barely making eye contact as he put chicken on his plate, and some sort of mushy carrot. 

“How have you been, Friend John?” Van Helsing asked, scooping some mashed potatoes he had no intention of finishing onto his plate.

“Oh, I’ve been alright,” he shrugged. “I have some wonderfully interesting patients at the Asylum, but outside of work life has been...boring, I suppose.”

“Oh?” Van Helsing replied.

Seward always was a bad liar.

“And what of you, Professor?”

“Oh, much the same, much the same. It is the curse of doctor-hood, is it not?”

“Very much so,” John said, and his voice was light with a happiness that had not been there previously.

“Well, as for tomorrow -- first thing in the day, we go to the house of so unfortunate Ms Westenra, ja?”

“That sounds agreeable.”

“Tonight, I am wanting much time to get everything in order, and also rest -- alas! I am not so young as I once was, and travel now is much strain for me. You will learn as you get older, Friend John.”

“With all due respect, Professor, when I get older I shall not travel as much as you do,” Seward said, shaking his head and smiling.

“Do not say that! You know not what the future brings, dear boy,” Van Helsing chided, though he did so with a laugh.

“Fine -- I do not _intend_ to travel as much as you do. Is that better?”

“I suppose. Anyway -- I shall wish, of course, to do my own examination. I am of assumption you have done yours already, ja?” Seward confirmed with a nod. “I shall wish to read your notes on that, but not until after, for I do not wish to have my own opinion tainted. Perhaps I will see something you do not, and I should miss if I go in making assumption, so it is best I do not.”

“Of course, Professor. After your examination, we can reconvene, if you like.”

“Certainly.”

And with that, the conversation fell off, and they finished eating in comfortable silence, Van Helsing too tired to attempt to talk, and Seward too focused on his own thoughts. When they were quite finished, Van Helsing was escorted to his room on the second floor by a very old and solemn looking butler.

“Thank you,” Van Helsing said, flashing a genuine smile, but the old butler, called Kane, merely nodded. After the butler was gone, Van Helsing took stock of the room.

Old, bigger than his bedroom in Amsterdam, and furnished modestly yet tastefully. The bed was opposite a large window, which opened to a balcony overlooking the garden. The curtains were of a rich red, which matched the rug placed in the middle of the room. A dresser stood against the wall opposite the door, to the left of the bed. In between the bed and the dresser was a nightstand, with a pitcher of water and a glass on it. A cheval glass stood in the corner near the door. His bags had already been brought into the room, and stood at the foot of the bed.

After he had taken off his overcoat and waistcoat, he wasted little time in crawling under the heavy sheets of the bed. They enveloped him like a swaddling cloth does a child.

At about half past 7, Kane woke him up to inform him the evening meal was ready. He went down, soberly and gratefully, some twenty minutes later. It was then he was informed that Dr Seward had left some hours earlier to attend to some patients at the Asylum, and thus Van Helsing would be dining alone.

He was more than fine with that.

Supper was not spectacular, but not bad, either -- roasted lamb, with carrots and potatoes, and a glass of red wine which tasted bitter and overpowering in comparison to the bland meat and vegetables.

When he was finished, and the tablecloth had been whisked away, he headed back to his room to reread some obscure book on obscure diseases he had brought with him for this sole purpose.

And he waited for morning.

~~~

“Ms Lucy Westenra,” Van Helsing said, extending his hand and a jovial smile to the young woman standing in front of him. “I’m Dr Abraham Van Helsing. Pleasure to meet you, dear.”

“Pleasure to meet you, too, Doctor,” she replied, her smile sweet and tired, taking his hand softly in hers. She sat down on the blue sofa, brushing out her skirts, and staring intently at the floor.

“My good friend Dr Seward,” he gestured with his hand, “has told me you are feeling ill. I would like to examine you, if that is of no trouble to you, dear?”

“Of course. Is Dr Seward going to stay?” she asked, looking anxiously around the drawing room. The sun had been covered by smog, which gave the beige and gold room an ugly grey undertone. 

“If you wish it, of course,” the Professor replied, and she considered for a moment before saying:

“I’d like him to stay, please.” So Seward stayed. He stayed as Van Helsing went through the examination, talking to her softly, checking to see if her lymph nodes were inflamed, checking her throat, her ears, eyes, voluntary and involuntary responses.

“Thank you, Ms Westenra,” he said, when he had finished. For all intents and purposes, Ms Westenra was perfectly healthy.

That concerned him more than any obscure disease possibly could have.

~~~

The moment Van Helsing's feet hit the cobblestone street outside the Westenra house, he said:

“You have mentioned of a fiancé for the young girl. Have you told him anything?”

“No,” Dr Seward replied, walking in the direction of his own abode. “Well, nothing other than that I was writing you to consult, and that I would keep him posted.”

“Right, my friend,” Van Helsing said, “quite right. Better he not know as yet; maybe never know. I pray so. Perhaps, though, he shall need to know -- then we tell him all. Let me caution you, friend,” and here he put his arm around John’s shoulders, “you deal with madmen. All men are mad, in some way or other. How you deal with God’s madmen -- the rest of the world -- is how you deal with your madmen, too, ja?”

“I don’t follow, Professor,” Seward said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Do you tell your madmen what you do, or why? Do you tell them what you think?”

“No,” Seward frowned.

“So do that same with everyone! We shall keep our knowledge in it’s rightful place, so it may grow, and breed. Keep it here, and here.” He touched Seward on the heart, then on the forehead, and did the same to himself. “I have suspicions for Ms Lucy’s ailment, and later, I shall unfold all to you.”

“But why not tell me now?” Seward asked. “Couldn’t it be good -- a consult, as you said you wanted, just yesterday?” Van Helsing stopped walking and looked at Seward.

“That was yesterday! I had not the knowledge I have today. No, I shall keep this knowledge --”

“In your heart and brain?”

“Precisely! I shall explain all soon, Friend John. Very soon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally won't have as long of notes, but I wanted to explain some stuff, so bear with me:  
> I saw on tumblr, once upon a time, that someone said "what if, instead of Mina, Van Helsing was Dracula's reincarnated wife?" and instantly thought that that was one of the funniest things ever. I kind of ship Drac and Van Helsing, ngl, but more in a "he's my douchebag ex-bf and none of the Crew of Light knows that and now we're going to kill him. so. this is fun" kinda way, not really in an "oh, we're soulmates!" kinda way.  
> Originally, I wanted to just follow the plot of the book/movie pretty exactly, and was going to start with Jonathan in Drac's castle, and go from there, but I decided to start when Van Helsing comes to Whitby to help Lucy instead b/c a) most people reading this are going to already know what happens in the book/movie, and it was redundant, and b) it was way too long. I'm gonna try to keep this between 10 and 20 chapters, and everything would have felt so fast-paced and been way too rushed. So I cut it. If you don't know what happens, I'd be more than happy to explain!  
> I don't ship Mina/Dracula. Mina is way too good for him.  
> I'll be taking a few plot points from the 92 Coppola movie, but the personalities and character relationships are gonna come from the book, so sorry if you wanted Terrible Old Man^tm Anthony Hopkins.  
> I'm still learning how to use AO3, and also name chapters, so be gentle with me please and thanks  
> Also, this was supposed to be more of a joke, then it came out just a little more serious than i had intended. So. Sorry about that.  
> But yeah. That's about it.  
> Comments and criticisms are always welcome! I love feedback.  
>  I hope you're having a lovely day, and if not, I hope tomorrow is 1000% better! Peace.


	2. Sea of Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy Westenra takes a turn for the worst. Luckily, her fiance Arthur Holmwood is there to save the day.

He cursed himself for not thinking to actually stay with the patient overnight.

Of course, he had had no way of knowing she would have lost that much blood, or any at all, but still. He should have had some foresight.

No, he told himself. That was unfair, and did nothing to help Lucy. Afterall, he hadn’t even confirmed what, precisely, was causing the blood loss. He told himself to just be thankful enough that they had gotten there before she was beyond saving.

He couldn’t help but notice the scrutinizing gaze of her fiance as he picked up her waxy, white wrist and checked her pulse. It was thready, weak, but definitely there. At least it was there.

He sighed, softly, in relief, and then almost immediately regretted it when her fiance said,

“She’ll be alright, then?”

“Hopefully, Mister…”

“Uh, Holmwood,” Seward chimed in.

“Right. My apologies.” He gave a tightlipped smile. He couldn’t tell why, but something about the man’s presence was...unsettling, to him. Perhaps it was the fact he had been absent previously, though Seward had mentioned something about an ill father, so he didn’t exactly blame him for it. Maybe it was the way his eyes never left the Professor, but that didn’t entirely make sense either, because he was a lecturer, so he really was used to that sort of thing.

Or maybe it was that those blue eyes looked too much like his late son’s. Or how his hair was the same golden hue. And he must be around the same age, right?

No, he’d think about it later.

“Uh, Dr Seward, may we converse in private, momentarily?” he asked, remembering his patient. His eyes met Seward's brown ones, before Seward looked over to Holmwood. 

“Oh, I beg your pardon --” Holmwood exclaimed. “I was so worried for my dear Lucy I must have forgotten myself.” He found himself pitying the poor boy.

“Not at all, dear boy. It is only natural you worry.” He smiled, and he hoped it came off as kind. 

Holmwood thanked them, and then left.

“What are you thinking, Professor?” Seward asked the moment he was out of earshot. Seward stared intently at the pale face of the woman he loved. 

She was paler than yesterday, her gums almost grey and drawn back, showing teeth sharper than usual and morbidly white. Her breath came weakly, and with long gaps in between.

“She will die for want of blood, friend John,” he said, frankly as he could.

“What, then? A transfusion? Do you really think it’s worth the risk?”

“Have you a suggestion? She will die without it.” Seward fell silent for a moment. He looked at Lucy’s face, and was chilled to the bone at how harsh she seemed. Her cheekbones protruded more than he ever remembered, her lips were cracked, and her chin pointed in an odd angle that was unbecoming. 

He found himself missing Lucy -- his Lucy -- the Lucy she had been before she had gotten sick. All round face, innocent curls, and stolen smiles. 

“Alright. You, or me?”

“Nay, young Holmwood. Call him in.”

~~~

“You know, I really am glad that I was here, then,” Holmwood said, as he did his best not to flinch as Van Helsing put the needle into his left arm.

“As am I,” Seward mumbled, and it was clear he meant it, though he still sounded morose.

“And, Professor Van Helsing --” he turned to look back at Van Helsing, with eager blue eyes, “Well, I know we haven’t really been formally introduced, but you must be the so good Professor Jack has written to me of.”

“Ah, Professor Abraham Van Helsing, yes,” he said, unsure of what to do with the compliment he was just extended. 

“Arthur Holmwood. You can call me Arthur, if you like. Almost everyone does.” He moved to extend his hand for a handshake, but Van Helsing put up a finger.

“That’s quite alright, friend Arthur. We wouldn’t want to jostle the equipment.” His voice exuded an easy warmness he did not feel. Years in the medical profession had taught him to be calm and collected even in the face of death, even if the dying's loved one was sitting right in front of you and you were sticking a needle in his arm. 

He couldn't help but think it was a skill friend John was still learning. 

“Ah, right. My apologies...er, It really is a pleasure to meet you. And I’m so thankful to you, for helping my Lucy. Really. I feel like an ass for having not been here yesterday, but my father’s sick, you see.”

“Well, here you are now, ja? And you give your blood for this so good girl.”

“I would give every drop in my body to help her,” he replied, choking back a sob, and looking at her face. Some colour had been drawn back into her cheeks, and her breathing was regular in pace, though somewhat quiet.

Van Helsing barked out a laugh which almost made Seward jump. “Well, I do not ask so much as that.”

“I almost didn’t come today, you know. But I’ve been missing her so badly, I decided last night to get here first thing in the morning.”

They fell silent for a moment before Seward said,

“Do you think that’s enough, Professor?” Van Helsing considered a moment then said,

“I do, yes.” He quickly took out the needle. Arthur’s arm bled a little, trickling down his arm, and it would have stained the chair he was seated in had Seward not been ready with a bandage. Van Helsing stood and let the rest of the blood trickle out of the tube and into Lucy before removing the needle from her vein.

She stirred slightly, and he thought she might wake up. 

The procedure had not, sadly, completely revived her, though he knew that was to be expected. She did not seem worse, though, which was good news. He was lying if he didn’t admit he shared some of friend John’s anxiety about the possibility of it going horribly wrong and leaving her worse than before. He had read a few horror stories of patients reacting wretchedly to blood transfusions with no clear cause why, and no way to fix it, other than hoping they weren’t so weakened already they survived.

But he also knew they had no choice.

So, either they didn’t do anything and she died of blood loss or they gave her a transfusion and prayed she didn’t die of shock.

Rock and a hard place, really.

“May I kiss her?” Arthur asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Hm?” Van Helsing replied.

“I mean, just on the forehead -- or cheek, maybe --”

“Oh, yes! The brave lover deserve a kiss, I think! Then, after that, you get much rest, and food, and maybe some port, no?”

Lucy coughed, and every man’s eyes fell on her. But she did not awake, or else did not seem to be awake.

After a moment, Arthur walked over, and placed a kiss on her forehead, before turning to let Seward lead him out of the room.

It wasn’t until they had both gone when he realised that when Lucy had coughed the little black velvet band that she had been wearing around her neck had moved to reveal two red puncture marks. Gingerly, with one finger, he moved it up even more lightly to get a better look.

_Oh, no._

He drew in his breath with a hiss.

“What’s the matter?” friend John asked, softly. He had not heard him entering the room. He beckoned him over with one hand, and once John was squarely by his side said,

“What do you make of these marks?”

“I don’t know; I’ve yet to examine them,” he said, but then and there he removed the velvet band from her neck.

There were two puncture marks, right on the jugular vein. They weren’t very large at all but their presence was enough to give him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He thought that, in some way, they represented death. Decay. He was reminded of the buboes that show upon those afflicted with Black Death, how they typically showcase on the neck. 

No, he thought -- they looked nothing like those. _These_ marks were not buboes -- they looked like bite marks, almost. Like from some sort of animal. 

They didn't seem to be infected, though, which was in some way a comfort, though a very little one. At least infection could be treated.

They were white and worn, though, but the very edges were reddish, and slightly bruised. Almost as if someone had sucked something out of them, and -- well. Wait. 

Surely they could not have been the cause of the blood loss. They were such tiny marks, and, even then, where could the blood have gone? 

Unless they were placed there by an animal, then perhaps an animal drank it? The thought made him nauseous. 

It didn't make sense, either, because how could an animal small enough to make the puncture wounds drink _that_ much blood? 

“Well?” Van Helsing asked after a moment, impatience tinging his voice. 

“Well,” Seward began, “I can’t make anything of it.” Van Helsing frowned.

“Hmm. I need a library,” he said, turning to leave them room. He turned back briefly and said, “oh, and a telegram office.” As he walked out of the room, Seward called to him,

“May I ask what for?” He turned to face him from the doorway, and said,

“You may!” before walking down the hallway. Seward sighed and frowned. One of the down falls of his former Professor, he remarked to himself, was his seemingly complete inability to ever explain himself outside of the classroom. 

He looked back to the sleeping girl, not quite all round face, innocent curls, and stolen smiles. She still seemed almost corpse-like, though admittedly, much better.

Like a very fresh corpse, perhaps.

But anyways, Lucy was doing well, still sound asleep, so he decided to check on Art. After all, he’d be wanting to go back to his father soon, and John wanted to make sure he was sound of body enough to do so.

~~~

Moonlight slipped between his fingers, white, and pure and beautiful, beautiful, _beautiful._

It slipped into the room, gracing it with it's beauty, beauty, _beauty,_ and he cursed how it’s effect was dimmed by the candle the man had lit, over at the desk in the corner.

He didn’t know who exactly the man was, with his black hair, and pale skin -- moonlight pale, but no where near as beautiful, beautiful, _beautiful_ \-- and brown eyes. He didn’t know what he was doing, sitting up in the corner of Lucy’s bedroom. Had her family caught on that easily? Surely not, for there was no garlic up, no crucifixes or crosses, juniper or rowan wood, or anything of the sort about the room.

Did they really think a mere mortal could keep him from her? Hardly, not when _so much_ was at stake. 

He thought of killing the young man. Not to feed, no, just to kill, for his insolence. For his audacity. His blood could run red, pouring on the floor instead of down his throat, and if the young man was lucky his blood could reflect the beauty, beauty, _beauty_ of the moonlight.

As tempting as that was, though, he knew it was nothing more than a mere distraction. Had he been feeding on this woman for himself, he would have done it in a heartbeat. He could have left something for Lucy's family to find in the morning. But his venture was not a Hedonistic one, so he decided not to indulge himself. 

He could let the man sleep, instead, and achieve everything he needed to in the exact way he needed to. 

Hm, he thought, as he realised he was being merciful. He thought he rather liked mercy, when it was done for one other than himself. When he was doing it for his true love. His soulmate. His Elisabeta. 

The windows creaked open under the influence of his magic, something dark and primitive and yet more powerful than most mortals would comprehend, and the man’s head shot up. Looked right at him, right through him, unable to see him. All the man saw was the near-blinding moonlight, shining through the vampire, beautiful, beautiful, _beautiful_. 

The man stared, long and hard, at the open window, out into the night. 

A gust of wind whipped through the room and blew the man’s candle out.

The smell of fear permeated the air. Sticky. Sweet. He thought he might revel in it a moment, since he _was_ being merciful, but the emptiness in his stomach made him wish to press on. 

Maybe some of it was Hedonistic, after all. 

“Sleep,” he whispered, insidiously, and his voice carried on the wind like a demented lullaby. It did not carry on the moonlight.

He was not beautiful enough for moonlight. 

"Sleeeep." The Man’s head lolled slightly, but then shot back up. “Ssssleeeeep.” The man rubbed his eyes, yawned. Put his head down on the desk, not entirely of his own volition. But he was tired, and sleep was quick to come. 

He rode his magic into the room, something dark and primitive, and too ugly to be moonlight, and solidified in the middle of the room. He took a moment to take stalk of the room around him, as he always did. Partially for safety reasons, but more so because he liked being comfortable in any element. 

The first thing he noticed was that the room smelt differently than the night before. Faint traces of other people lingered on the chairs, in the air, on the curtains. Blood lingered in the air. She must have had visitors, he deduced. 

In the room adjacent, just to the left, he heard the rustling of papers, the flipping of pages. Soft words mumbled in German, or maybe Dutch. 

_A voice beautiful enough for moonlight_ , he thought, before he could stop himself, think about the implications. He froze in the middle of the room, straining to hear the voice again, but it said nothing. 

Right. Anyways. 

He looked over at the sleeping Lucy, dear girl. The day before must have been some strain on her, but she looked better than he had left her, all round face, innocent curls, and soft frown. 

Dammit. He was _trying_ to make the process quick.

Sweat glistened on her brow. She looked so sweet, and innocent, he almost felt guilty.

Almost.

But this is what had to happen, he reminded himself. What needed to happen, if he was ever to convince his dear Mina -- his Elisabeta -- to join the ranks of the undead with him. If he were not enough for her, he reasoned, then Lucy _and_ him certainly would be. Even if he were technically enough for her, if she still wanted Lucy, then he'd give it to her anyways. 

He'd give her anything, anything, _anything._

He'd steal the moonbeams, in all their beauty, beauty, _beauty_ , and give them to her. 

He smiled slightly, as Lucy turned in her sleep. 

He reflected that, at first, when he had just arrived in Whitby, and later followed them to London, he had been jealous at the exact nature of their relationship.

At the way Mina’s eyes lit up whenever they fell upon Lucy. At the way, after everyone else in the house had gone to bed, they locked the door and drew the blinds. How their relationship seemed to be made up of soft touches, innocent laughter, and stolen kisses. But he wasn’t so naive as to think that something similar couldn’t have happened. Though, admittedly, he thought the biggest obstacle would have been her fiance.

He sat on the edge of Lucy’s bed, and watched for a moment, noting with some humour that she smelled differently than the night before, as well. She smelled like the blood that lingered in the air.

He was content to just watch for a moment. 

Presently, she stirred, and they locked eyes before she said,

“How’d you -- my friend, he stayed up with me --”

“Not so,” he replied, gesturing to the sleeping man in the corner. Her face fell slightly.

“There’s someone in the room adjacent -- a doctor -- I could scream, and --”

“He wouldn’t hear you.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. “Remember what we talked about last night? This is for Mina. Our dear Mina.”

“Mina…?” she asked, and her eyes went hazy. Mesmerism -- one of his favourite tricks.

“Yes, Mina,” he purred, as he lent in, close to her neck, and bit down in the same place he had the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so first off. This took a long time. I know, I'm sorry. But better late than never, I always say! Hopefully from here on out I can get more of a cohesive updating schedule.  
> Also, I've been thinking of a ship name for them. Bramcula? Vancula? Drabaham? Dranhelsing? Vladiham? Idk. My personal favourite is Vancula tbh. 
> 
> (Oh ps sorry if Dracula seemed a little bit too creepy at the end there, I assure you it's completely intentional and he does get less creepy. I was really just trying to convey how desperate he is to have Elisabeta back.)


End file.
